let's watch this city burn
by GlimmerIcewood
Summary: People watched as the city burned. People watched as their Capitol turned to ruins around them. And it seemed as if the entire Capitol population saw red as bullets sliced into the chest of a girl in a lemon coat. —for the Caesar's Palace prompt, 'yellow'.


I don't own _The Hunger Games_. I never will, got it?

People watched as the city burned. People watched as their Capitol turned to ruins around them. And it seemed as if the entire Capitol population saw red as bullets sliced into the chest of a girl in a lemon coat.

_let's watch this city burn, from the skyline on top of the world._

_'till there's nothing left of her. let's watch this city burn the world._

_- Hollywood Undead_

xx

People watch. Hundreds, thousands, _millions. _And all of these people are watching the same thing. They all watch as their beautiful Capitol, with it's shining lights and glorious buildings, gets burned to the ground in one foul sweep, taking lives along with it.

xx

A small child clutches her mother, yellow raincoat flying in the wind of the streets, as they make their way through crowds of people all fleeing the same thing. Fire comes down around them like rain, small flecks of ash landing on the cobblestone sidewalks and on fallen bodies with bullet holes punched into them. Blood squelches under foot as they walk, sticky, but starting to dry. Coats, along with other belongings, lie discarded on the side of the street, forgotten in the haste to get away towards the safety of the President's mansion.

The child sees something, _someone_, for only a brief second, before the girl heavily hid in make-up and clothes flees into the crowd before her. But this yellow-clad girl can't help but notice the charred, black braid escaping from underneath the layered wigs on the girls head.

Only seconds later, a mob of Peacekeepers have replaced the silhouette of the young woman, guns loaded, and pointing straight at her mother. In a second, the surgically altered woman falls to the ground, her blue hair flying sideways as she slumps forward. The girl lets out an ear-splitting shriek, reverberating right into the bones of those nearest to her. Before anyone can blink, the guns are reloaded and bullets are pumped into her chest, while the last of the innocence in the world dies right along with her.

xx

Peacekeeper boots, caked with dirt and grime, slap against the pavement of the streets. Guns are raised silently, poised to shoot with every corner rounded. Screams ring out around them as the lead row fire their guns, pushing their way through the crowd, even if these people are their own.

They come roaring onto the main street, packed tightly together, towards a mob of citizens trying to flee. The Peacekeepers take down only some rebel fighters as they shoot, slaughtering more rainbow clad people than necessary.

It's not just to protect the Capitol anymore. Hell, they couldn't give less of a damn about the Capitol. _Their _lives are at stake now. It is blind to the men and women that they are killing the elderly, the disabled, and even the children, even the most innocent. And they don't even notice as a child drops to the ground before her fallen mother, shooting straight at her without a second thought. It's not their fault they have weapons, weapons that can steal away lives in a second. Fuck the Capitol. Fuck everyone in this damned city. None of it matters anymore.

xx

Looking out a window in their lavish house, set right into the heart of the Capitol, Calina Crane's altered violet eyes widened as yet another bomb dropped from a hovercraft, alighting a series of houses with fire and smoke.

She was the daughter of the executed Seneca Crane, only fifteen years old, yet she had seen more than most should have. Her father had been the head gamemaker, for crying out loud. Every night she would see sheafs of papers in his office, ridded with vicious plans to kill children younger than herself. She loved her father, hated that he wasn't here anymore, but detested the fact that he was responsible for twenty three deaths a year. But after seeing what she had tonight, all of those papers seemed like simple childsplay. Blood had splattered against the once shiny outside walls of her house as Peacekeepers ran down the streets, shots blindly ringing out while bullets shattered her bedroom window. A shard had lodged deeply into her brother's cheek after the glass flew, and he hadn't stop wailing ever since. Her mother sat in the corner, holding him though her own eyes were wide with fear that couldn't at all help his sobbing.

The huge mansion shook again, the chandelier and it's diamonds trembling, straining against the ceiling. Citizens ran, shrieking with terror past her house, frantically running through the street though most fell quickly, a round of gunfire quickly ending every life. But the most terrifying body lying perfectly still on the street was that of a young girl, the bright colour splash of her jacket the only thing to break through the blood coating every layer of the street.

Calina's eyes didn't move from the fallen form of the child. She seemed so perfect, so beautiful for one so young, even in death. Her blue eyes were glazed over, blonde hair spread around her face like a shining halo. She was a _child. _A small, stunning, innocent _child._ This wasn't supposed to happen in a perfect place like the Capitol. But it had, and it was still happening.

_This wasn't a world that Calina Crane wanted to be in anymore._

xx

The Capitol falls and people die, though there are some left standing to rebuild what has fallen. But with a dead President, _two _dead Presidents, a flightless Mockingjay, and everything in ruins, a return to normalcy never seemed so far away.

xx

Three long, tiring months later, an elderly man walks the streets of the Capitol. Most buildings are still in ruins, though the streets have been cleared, at least, as cleared as they'll be for a while. He walks slowly, weary eyes travelling over each detail in the street. A drop of long-dried red brown underneath his foot, a piece of shrapnel lying inches away, and then something brighter, something the colour of the sun in the dead of Summer. It lies, wrapped around a fallen light pole, it's sleeves covered in soot and splattered with blood. It's a raincoat.

He slowly travels over to it and picks it up in between his fingers, spreading it out over the palm of his hand. It's tiny, easily a childs coat, though it lies on the street, abandoned. The spots of blood on the jacket are a giveaway to the man, and the thoughts of the child that once wore it fill his mind. A confused, terrified face, wide, nervous blue eyes and flyaway blonde hair that escaped from underneath the bright yellow hood as she ran, her small, chubby fingers gripped tightly in an adult's hand.

This man watched from his house as the city burned. He watched as an endless amount of people died, fell, and slumped over into the street, blood pouring from their bodies.

And he watched as the exact child that wore this yellow raincoat met her death in the streets.


End file.
